


The Cherry Tree

by galactiklance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A LOT of Repetition, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cherry Tree, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Outsider's Perspective, Sleepovers, bc this was an experiment, but its soft, from a tree of all things, just 1000 words of pure fluff, klance, literally that's it, soft, sue me, treehouse, yes these tags are basically me trying to see what it takes to get on the neat ao3 tags twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 18:49:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactiklance/pseuds/galactiklance
Summary: It would tell of her brother, the youngest. The one with the freckles and the wild curls, the bluest of eyes that sparkled like the ocean. How he was the one with the brightest laugh, the most energy.Over time, the tree came to know the family. It saw things that people didn't, that perhaps people couldn't.If it could, it would tell of the bedraggled black-haired boy, the same age as the youngest cuban, who peered through the fence every day to watch the family.------The cherry tree has seen things. A lot of things. It has stories. A lot of stories. But there's one in particular that it will never forget.





	The Cherry Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Would you look at that, another impulsive fluff one-shot in what, a week?
> 
> This was half an experiment, half a cute idea that I wanted to get down, half me trying to defeat my writer's block, and half me trying (and somehow succeeding) to stay close to a word limit. (Yes that's 4 halves I know I'm good at maths can't you tell?)
> 
> This doesn't quite break the record set by [Side Effects](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20147956) (My short witch/vamp fluff oneshot, go read it, I didn't link it for nothing), but that doesn't mean it wasn't done quickly. Also go read my Selection AU fic, [The Rules Were Made To Be Broken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18429080/chapters/43653152) which is gaining a fifth chapter later today!! (Wow, I know, I'm actually on time, is this real??)
> 
> Once again, Jo, you are an angel and I love you so much, go check out her [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSforDays/pseuds/BSforDays) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bs_fordays) because she deserves all the love and kudos.
> 
> Now for my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/galactiklance) bc I'm me and never miss a chance to promote myself. Or, now I have [Tumblr](https://galactiklance.tumblr.com/) and [Instagram.](https://www.instagram.com/galactiklance/)
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos, and you can come yell at me on Twitter too, I don't mind. But for now I'll just let you read

At the back of the garden, next to the fence and opposite the rose bush, was a cherry tree. It was nothing spectacular, just a humble cherry tree that grew steadily over time. Nothing more, nothing less.

But this cherry tree had stories to tell. It had seen things, many things over the years it had lived, some more interesting than others. 

It had seen people come and go, the old couple who arrived, and the widow that left, the young girls, fresh out of their honeymoon, the children they adopted, the extensions they put on the house, and the couple who left to fulfil their dreams.

The family, the cuban one with all the children that filled the house full to bursting. 

Oh, did the cherry tree have stories about them.

It would tell of their first day, the children running wild in the garden. 

It would tell of the eldest, the strongest, how he looked out for his siblings. How he was the one to give them a leg up into its branches, how he was the one to promise to catch them when they fell.

It would tell of the second oldest, another boy, the lanky one who liked to tease the younger children. How he was the one to hide in the bushes and jump out, making the rest squeal with delight.

It would tell of the oldest daughter, the one with the glasses, who examined everything with wonder in her eyes. How she was the one to realise the danger in climbing to the highest branches and to get her brothers to stop.

It would tell of the twins, inseparable. The girl, quieter, a bit more cautious, but nonetheless fun-loving. How she was the one to pick the flowers for her mother. 

It would tell of her brother, the youngest. The one with the freckles and the wild curls, the bluest of eyes that sparkled like the ocean. How he was the one with the brightest laugh, the most energy.

Over time, the tree came to know the family. It saw things that people didn't, that perhaps people couldn't.

If it could, it would tell of the bedraggled black-haired boy, the same age as the youngest cuban, who peered through the fence every day to watch the family.

It would tell of the time the male twin noticed those dark eyes between the slats, the time where instead of rollicking with his siblings, he sat under the boughs of the cherry tree, and talked.

It would tell of the time the black haired boy first came over, his eyes full of wonder as his new friend showed him about the garden. 

It would tell of time after time after time the black haired boy visited, every day his smile growing just that little bit brighter.

It saw everything they did together, it saw the daisy chains, the flower crowns given and received, the ice blocks dripped down their chins in the heat of summer. 

If asked, it would tell of each time they scampered up its branches, racing up and down, chasing each other, sitting and chatting. 

It would tell that when the blossom came, the curly haired one would hang from the branches, shaking them over his friend, making it snow in spring.

It would tell of their delighted shrieks when he jumped down, almost landing on the dark haired boy. 

The tree didn't just see, it felt. It felt when the oldest boy clambered up its limbs, his arms laden down with planks of wood, brother close after. It felt the nails hammered into its bark, first for the floor, then the walls, then the roof. It felt the treehouse being made, just like it felt is weight on its boughs now.

This new addition pleased the youngest greatly, and his friend. The cherry tree saw it all.

If it could, it would tell of the first night they spent up there together, both still young and free, giggling until the stars were out, until finally they drifted to sleep.

It would tell of the secret meetings, discussing anything and everything, ending in laughter.

It would tell of the games, the imaginary scenarios in imaginary worlds that took place in the modest box of wood.

But the cherry tree wouldn't just speak of their childhood, no, its stories spanned far further than that.

It would tell of the look in the cuban's eyes when he saw his friend's dark hair speckled with soft pink petals, of the look in the friend's eye when he thought the cuban wasn't looking.

It would tell of the late night conversations, sitting together looking at the stars, huddled for warmth. 

It would tell of the tears the cuban shed when he broke up with his girlfriend, the one the tree was yet to meet, because he never brought her out the back.

It would tell of the gentle hand of the friend, the kind words and hugs that reassured that all was not in vain.

It would tell of the sadness in his eyes that was more than just empathy.

The cherry tree knew, because it had seen everything, everything it could, everything it had been shown.

It could tell of the sleepovers, still happening even though the cuban's siblings had almost all left home, and he himself was only a few years behind.

It could tell of the secrets, the things that were never told to anyone else, meant only for each other's ears.

It could tell of the space between them, the space that was getting smaller and smaller with each passing moment.

It could tell of the fact that they sat just a little bit closer than they needed to.

It could tell of the hand that reached out, the one with the freckles, and the fingers that covered those of the other. 

It could tell of the redness of both their cheeks, unseen in the dark.

It could tell of the night where two boys finally kissed, but it wouldn't, because it wasn't its place to tell.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who never knows how to start the end notes!!! It's me!!! Surprise!!!
> 
> Hope you liked it, hope it wasn't too repetitive and all that jazz.
> 
> Leave me a comment, I'll reply, and kudos, and if you're that type of person, here's my [Twitter,](https://twitter.com/galactiklance) [Tumblr,](https://galactiklance.tumblr.com/) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/galactiklance/) again.


End file.
